


Belle's Tears

by Chris Fitzner (chrisfitzner)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Comfort/Angst, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2014-04-29
Packaged: 2017-12-26 17:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 14,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/968468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chrisfitzner/pseuds/Chris%20Fitzner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Rumplestiltskin HAD learned that Belle was not really dead?  A delightful jaunt away from canon. A/U</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Tears that burn but refuse to fall from his wide, reptilian eyes, the magic having long since burned them all away.  The cup, _her_ cup, was smooth and delicate, so delicate, between his dry fingers.  He placed it gently, reverently, upon the green velvet.

 _“She threw herself from the tower.  She died.”_ Regina said flatly, over and over in his mind. The image of a beautiful girl, suspended in the air, frozen for just a moment in an elegant swan dive accompanied it, plummeting to the earth each time his breath hitched in his throat.

The queen had lied; she _must_ have lied.  Belle would have never have done that to herself, no matter how bad things were – would she?  His Belle was head strong and brave, almost to the point of foolishness.  She had not flinched from becoming his to save her people.  Regina would say anything if she thought it might hurt him.  It could still be a lie!  But scourge and flames..

His eyes fluttered shut.  That would break anyone.

“It must be true.” Rumplestiltskin murmured to the delicate cup with the sweet little chip, the ache in his chest where he supposed his heart would be was nearly more than he could bear.

He braced himself against the pedestal, watching his black fingernails dig into the fabric.  Why did it matter to him?  The girl had been in league with that witch, only a tool to drain him of whatever power she could.  Belle meant _nothing_ to him.

Then why did it hurt so badly?

Rumplestiltskin spun on his heel and stormed over to the giant spinning wheel on the far side of the room.  He threw himself onto the stool, hands poised before the great wheel but he did not spin.  _She_ was there, perched upon the base, eyes shining with an emotion he had seen in others for countless years but never for him.  She had glowed in the firelight, sweet and perfect in that singular moment when the world had not seemed so dark.  Soft, warm lips pressed earnestly to his and then the moment was gone, dashed against the jagged rocks of his rage.

 _“This means its true love!”_ Belle had cried amidst the torrent of accusations and he had told her to shut up, had wanted to hurt her, and locked her away in the dungeon for her own good.

Had it really been true love?  The hole in his heart where his son had been felt larger, like he could fall into it and never climb out.

_“My power means more to me than you.”_

Belle hadn’t believed him.  Her startling blue eyes, glassy with her tears, had haunted him since the day she strode out of the dungeon.

_“You’re going to regret it. **Forever**.”_

She was right, as she often had been.  Rumplestiltskin _would_ regret it. Forever and with no hope of a second chance even if he had wanted to.

_She died._

_Threw herself from the tower._

_Gone forever._

_Dead._

Choking back a sob, Rumplestiltskin jumped up, kicking the stool hard into the wall.  He left the room briskly, without a glance, hoping to escape yet another ghost.


	2. Chapter Two

The days were no more than white chalky lines on the cold grey stone of her cell and the sliver of light that fell across the floor from the high arrow slit in the wall.  There was nothing for her to do but to sit on the hard bed, sometimes leaning against the wall, sometimes hanging upside down, and watching the tangles of her chestnut hair drag the drab floor.  Sometimes the queen came to her cell, sometimes with a guard but often alone; the questions were always about the same thing: Rumplestiltskin.  How does one control him? Where is his magical dagger?

Belle didn’t know, she didn’t _want_ to know but no one ever believed her.  The Dark One held his secrets close and had done so for centuries.  Why would he tell _her_?  She was nothing to him, just the girl who pushed around the dust and fancied that she loved him.

But Regina still came with her questions and a strong arm if she thought Belle was too impertinent.

In the beginning, Belle had begged to go home, plead with the queen to return her to her father.  She had answered the questions, she was not useful, please have mercy?  But the queen was convinced that keeping Belle here was some sort of ace up her sleeve and Belle knew she’d never get out.  There had been tears, a flood of them that she could’ve drowned in; crying in her sleep, whispering for Rumplestiltskin.  He wouldn’t let her languish here.  But he never came, no one ever did except the queen and eventually the tears were gone too.  Now she didn’t care what happened; she would die here.

What would she have said to her Papa anyway?

_Papa, I left with a monster and fell in love with a man but the man was afraid and let the monster hide him._

Maybe he would have locked her up in a tower too, although with more comfortable surroundings, but still a prisoner.

She heard a key in the door and the click of the lock.  The heavy brocade of the queen’s gown rustled as she walked, it whispered across the floor.  One of Regina’s black clad brutes followed her in, he was new and his cold beady eyes took Belle in hungrily.  Belle felt squeamish but she straightened her back and looked the queen square in the face with as much dignity as she could muster.  She wasn’t defeated yet.


	3. Chapter Three

Deep in the shadows of a non-descript town square, Rumplestiltskin waited.  The clock chimed the midnight hour, echoing in the stillness long after the last _bong_ died away.  He smiled to himself, steepling his hands together, struggling to supress his glee.  Most of his clients preferred to meet in the middle of the night, in alleyways, silent woods or in a misty swamp, as though hiding away their dealings with the Dark One would make it less real.  People found out what they had done eventually, all magic _did_ come with a price.

The summer had started out so promising across the kingdoms; crops ripening beneath the golden sun and inching ever taller from the gentle rains.  Trade had been good for many and peace kept the young men at their trades and fields.  There was little need of the Dark One in good times like that and Rumplestiltskin had grown bored; peace made him surly.  But it never lasted for long and soon the rains turned torrential, flooding washing away the much needed winter crops.  Renewed ogre attacks led to sabre rattling and before long, Rumplestiltskin’s dance card was full again.

Footfalls on cobblestones were always offensively loud at midnight, no matter what type of shoe a person wore.  Magic kept him as silent as a cat creeping up on its prey; appropriate, he figured, when meeting with a client.  He giggled and spun around as a darkly dressed stooped figure entered the alley; it was show time.

His client pushed the hood from his grey face.  Withered and as grey as the stones of Rumplestiltskin’s castle; a dull, almost aching desperation was etched into every line of his face and shadowing his faded blue eyes.  He dimly remembered the man, another nameless face in Regina’s cortege, a hopeless lackey that would get himself killed some day; another desperate soul.

“Are you?”

“Rumplestiltskin.” He confirmed, bowing with a flourish, though, who else had the old man expected to find in the alley at midnight?  “What can I do for you?” he purred.

The old man looked over his shoulder before speaking; his hands were clasped tightly in front of him to hide the tremors.  He was frightened almost out of his wits; Rumplestiltskin relished that.

“Well come on, old man, I don’t have all night.” He taunted, wondering how quickly he could get the man to break.  It wouldn’t be a terrible loss; Rumplestiltskin doubted that he had anything of value.  Usually they would trip over themselves to get away from him but sometimes they would wet themselves.  The rush of power he felt from the fear he commanded was almost better than the actual power he possessed.

“It’s not for me it’s for my daughter.” The old man stammered.  Rumplestiltskin only half listened as he blubbered on about his only child burning to death of fever after giving birth to a child of her own.  There was nothing that this man could give him that would even come close to the price of the magic that could save his daughter.  Rumplestiltskin sighed inwardly; he hated charity cases.

“Can you help her, sir?”

“I can.” Rumplestiltskin flicked his wrist and a snow white quill appeared in the old man’s gnarled hand, a contract in the other. The quill made a loud scratching sound against the parchment. “For a price, of course.” He took the signed contract, rolled it up swiftly and tucked it out of sight; the quill vanished in a small cloud of smoke.  A shining vial was left in its place, the light dancing over the man’s face as the vial shook in his hand.

“What is your price?”

The man had nothing precious to give him, no gems or rare artifacts and almost certainly lacked the means to acquire them.  In working for the queen, he would have gold but Rumplestiltskin _made_ gold, more than he could ever spend in a hundred lifetimes.  His mouth set in a thin line, he hated to take the children, especially newborns.  They were loud and squawky and it was almost impossible to find a wet nurse that would take them from _his_ hands.  But there was nothing else he could take.

“Your grandson.”

“What? No, please! Anything but him!” the fear that flooded the old man’s wide eyes would’ve been more satisfying if it didn’t mean a squalling infant and diaper duty until he found it a home. “I have gold!” he brought out a leather pouch heavy with coins.  Rumplestiltskin sighed.

“I _make_ gold.”

“Please, Dark One.” The man whimpered, dropping to his knees.  “She’ll die if you take him away.”

“She’d likely die with or without him.” He said coldly, snatching the vial from the gnarled fingers.

“Information –“ he stammered. “I have information that I know you want.”

“Oh, I highly doubt _that_ dearie.”

“The queen, she has your maid, the pretty little girl with the chestnut curls.”

Rumpelstiltskin’s eyes narrowed, now mere slits, making him look more reptilian than ever.  How did this withered coward know about Belle?  It couldn’t be true, Belle was _dead_ , he’d found no trace of her for all of that long summer and the winter before that.  Regina had seemed truthful for once and he had been determined to let it go.

“How do you know about her?” He hissed, his entire body dangerously still.

“I’m her majesty’s taster, I heard the queen talking about her over supper with a pirate.  Her name is Belle.”

All of the old hurt and the heart ache flooded back into him but the rage, always somewhere within him, flared up and burned gentler emotions to ash.  He pulled the old man to his feet by the collar and slammed him against the grey stone.  Grey wall, grey man; grey, grey, grey world, he mused.

“You know _nothing_.  Belle is dead.”

“No, I swear it!”

“Have you seen her?” he demanded, tightening his grip on the man’s shirt.

“No but I would swear.”

“Have you _seen her_?” Rumplestiltskin shouted, flecks of spittle scattering across the old man’s forehead.  He waited for the answer, the clock striking the bottom of the hour. “Tick tock, tick tock.”

“No, milord.” The man sobbed, turning his face from the twisted fury of the Dark One.

Rumplestiltskin let the man drop into a heap at his feet.  “The payment is _worthless_ to me.  The magic demands a price.  A life for a life.”

Before the man could blubber anymore or slobber on his nice boots, Rumplestiltskin snapped his fingers and the man vanished in a haze of dark purple smoke.  In his place was a snail edging slowly near the base of the wall, leaving a trail of slime.  The last of the anger surged through him and he brought his foot down onto the snail with a loud _crunch_.

“A life for a life, dearie.” He told the remains of the snail, scraping his boot against the cobbles.  Rumplestiltskin glowered into the darkness and then vanished himself, his taste for a deal ruined for that night.


	4. Chapter Four

Summer was fading into autumn, Belle could tell by the sharper chill of the nights and the sun hardly dared peek its face through the narrow window.  Another winter was coming, her second in the tower.  The queen had tried to tempt her with a more comfortable cell, a real bed and heavier blankets if Belle gave her what she wanted.  But Belle had already answered the queen’s questions as truthfully as she knew how, it wasn’t her fault that Regina was not satisfied.  Even if she had known anything about Rumplestiltskin’s dagger, Belle would never tell her.

The hope for rescue had dwindled, the kernel of hope that she had clung to like a rock in a stormy sea eroded ever further with each white line she added to the cell walls.  One day she might run out of space and the days would go on, silent and unmarked until she escaped or until her heart just stopped beating.

She passed most of her time asleep, in her dreams she was free; running through meadows, climbing the trees of her childhood, splashing long forgotten friends in the river.  The queen could never touch her there. 

Rumplestiltskin slipped into a dream or two, not as the raging monster or cold statue of their last hours together, but as the quiet, sometimes awkward and bashful man he had been during her months tending the castle.  He had been so long without human companionship that he often struck Belle as surprised that he was even capable of basic courtesy.  It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to scare her; Belle had cleaned enough blood soaked aprons to be wary of her master.  But she was stubborn, more stubborn than Rumplestiltskin and eventually her hard-headedness won out over his.  He began to join her in the library, _her_ library, and rarely speaking, just quiet and comfortable companionship.  It was of those times and a calm, mellow Rumplestiltskin that Belle dreamed of most.

Nighttime was black as pitch; the queen gave Belle no lantern, not even a scrap of candle to break the darkness.  She had learned her sparse surroundings though and could find her way around with or without light.  Some nights, the moonlight spilled weakly through the window and Belle sat on the cold floor, gazing up, imagining she could see the stars, making wishes and whispering futile prayers.

Did Rumplestiltskin know where she was and just didn’t care?  Belle hadn’t believed him when he claimed that his power meant more than she did.  But she had been locked up for so long, maybe he had forgotten her.  Just another face passing through the endless decades of his cursed life.  She would never forget him, though, and she would never stop fighting for him even if he never thought of her again in all the years ahead of him.


	5. Chapter Five

Hunched over the heavy wooden work table, pouring over a yellowed piece of parchment, Rumplestiltskin was oblivious to the cold wind howling around his tower workroom.  The biting cold of deep winter in the mountains tumbled through the open window; the flames in the small fireplace guttering violently.  The snows had come early to the mountains that year.  Magic kept the castle grounds pleasant and green all year long but outside the gates the snow had already drifted impossibly deep.  It made no matter to Rumplestiltskin, coming and going by magic.  Leaving the snow piled high also made certain that he’d receive no unwelcome visitors until the spring thaw.

It was late and his eyes ached from long hours of reading.  He was unaccustomed to fatigue, the curse that lived in him sustained him for periods of time longer than a mortal man; but even the Dark One needed rest _some_ times.  Rumplestiltskin waved his hand, slamming the window shutters against the wind and extinguishing the fire at the same time.  This seemed to be one of those times.

The candles went out as he descended the stairs, winding his way down the familiar path into the castle in darkness.  Candelabras sputtered to life and died just as quickly, his stride too fast for the magic that lit the corridors to keep up.  Not that it mattered; Rumplestiltskin could walk the castle blind, following the tingle of the magic that soaked the stones, reaching out to it like an extension of him, like an extra sense.

Lost in his thoughts, Rumplestiltskin was surprised to find himself standing before the door to Belle’s old chamber; the one he’d given her after she caught cold sleeping in the dungeon.  He’d given her little thought since the night in the alley with Regina’s taster.  Perhaps he should have looked into the old man’s claim but a part of Rumplestiltskin _wanted_ her to be dead.  With Belle dead, he would never have to own up to any mistakes made or his cowardice.

The door swung open at the lightest touch and he hesitated before going in.  He had never gone in there, not even after Regina brought him the news.  The room was much as Belle might have left it; the golden gown she arrived in hung over the back of a chair, the moonlight shining upon the fabric.  The bed was small but clean and comfortable, he knew; Rumplestiltskin had no patience for uncomfortable beds and not one existed inside the Dark Castle.  Ribbons and pins were scattered across the surface of the plain dressing table, winding around a silver handled hair brush.  Belle could’ve been just downstairs in the kitchen preparing a pot of tea but a thick layer of dust told another story.   Dust never did respond well to his magic.

He ran his fingers across the soft quilt on the bed and dropped onto the padded stool at the dressing table.  A small fire sprang to life in the fireplace behind him, the flames reflected in the round silver glass.  Rumplestiltskin wound a light blue ribbon around his fingers, enjoying the feel of the silk against his skin.  He remembered buying them for her in a busy market on the other side of the world where the air was thick with sweat, smoke and spices.  Her surprise at receiving them had been second only to his surprise when she threw her arms around his neck and gave him a tight hug.

Rumplestiltskin absently traced his finger across the glass, spelling out ‘Belle’.  The glass shimmered and the room behind him fell away, darkness taking its place.  The image panned out and a narrow window appeared, set high into the dark wall.  Moonlight trickled through it, casting is weak light upon a small figure, hunched over and hugging its knees.  Rumplestiltskin frowned, willing the figure to look into the moonlight.  He waited forever, it seemed, every muscle tensed and ready to pounce.  When the face finally did meet the moon, his could have sworn that his stomach had frozen solid.  Messy hair framing a pale and gaunt face, there was no mistaking the startling blue of her eyes.  Her bottom lip was chapped and bleeding and the shoulders of her gown looked threadbare. 

_Alive! She’s alive.._

Straining to keep his composure, to hold the connection, he tried to see beyond the walls around Belle to confirm what he already knew.  When the familiar form of Regina’s stronghold came into view, Rumplestiltskin jumped up as though he’d been burned, knocking over the stool.  He snapped his fingers and fastened the cloak that appeared about his shoulders and with the merest thought he vanished, traveling across the kingdoms to pluck the queen’s prisoner right from under her nose.

 

* * *

 

It was cold in the tower.  Belle’s hands and feet were numb, the cold seemed to emit from her own skin and she couldn’t feel the tears that dripped down her nose.  In a fit of anger and frustration, the queen had the guards take the meager bedclothes and a pair of ratty slippers, leaving Belle to shiver through a handful of nights until she shivered constantly.  She couldn’t remember a time anymore when she hadn’t been cold.

Her dwindling hope had finally died in the frosty nights of autumn and all that was left for her was to curl up and close her eyes forever.  Letting her mind stray to the warm summer days of her childhood, before arranged marriages or ogres, before Rumplestiltskin; she laid cold cheek against cold stone and waited to become a part of it.


	6. Chapter Six

Rumplestiltskin materialized in a dark and deserted corridor where the only sound was his own shallow breathing.  His intention had been the cell or just outside of it; he had no idea where he was at in relation to the destination.  He stood in the darkness, hands poised before him like a conductor ready to lead the musicians, eyes closed, listening.  The upper floors of the queen’s castle were silent, Regina and her court slumbering at this late hour.  Guards were the only ones awake above the ground floor.  Far below, in the kitchens, he could hear the scullery maids cleaning the pots in preparation for the next day.  There was no one nearby.

He crept along in the stillness, eventually arriving at a narrow staircase set into the wall, curving up and out of sight.  With a foot on the bottom stair, Rumplestiltskin paused; the air didn’t feel right, it was heavy, pressing down upon his shoulders and thrumming through his body.  He knew this trick, it was the same sort of magic he shielded the work room with; he had been the one to teach it to Regina.  A sneer curled his lips; even if Belle was not at the top of the stairs, Regina really had not wanted him popping in on whatever _was_ up there.

Leaning against the wall, Rumplestiltskin eyed the darkened stairwell above him, weighing his options; find out that Belle wasn’t up there and waste valuable time or look elsewhere.  The magic guarding the stairwell wasn’t an issue, he could work through it.  Regina had a higher opinion for her abilities than he did.

With a shrug, he tried the next step, hands out before him, palms down.  Taking a deep breath, Rumplestiltskin closed his eyes to center himself and then began to visualize fire; tiny flames licking across his skin, over his entire body.  Pouring energy into the image, he could feel the heat, growing hotter by the second; beads of perspiration broke out upon his forehead.  Wrapped in his aura of flame, Rumplestiltskin proceeded up the stairs, slow at first and then quickening his pace as the flames burned through the queen’s magic step by step until he stopped at a heavy wooden door.  The magic was thinner there, weaker as though Regina hadn’t expected anyone to make it that far.  Palms pressed against the door, Rumplestiltskin let the energy go, traveling down his arms and into the door, burning away the last of Regina’s deterrents.  The door swung open with a gentle push and Rumplestiltskin slipped inside, the cool air of the turret a welcome embrace after the heat of his ascent.

Moonlight shone faintly in a narrow patch on the floor where she laid, curled into a tight ball and shivering.  Rumplestiltskin suddenly felt uncertain in his decision to come here.  He could take Belle away from her prison, but what could he do with her once she’d recovered?  They could not carry on as things had been before.. before the kiss.

_Stop being a fool._

Half asleep and ice cold, Belle hardly noticed as Rumplestiltskin knelt down and scooped her into his arms.  She had always been light but now it was like cradling a shriveled leaf to his chest.  Rumplestiltskin glanced around the cell, scanning the walls full of white marks and the pallet that had been her bed; there were no blankets.  He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the urge to storm through the castle and strangle Regina while she slept.

_Get over it and get her out of here._

Rumplestiltskin made for the stairs to carry Belle back to the corridor he had arrived in so he could take them home but he felt the stir of magic responding to its caster; Regina approached, there would not be time to get away from the tower if he went the long way.  He’d rather not deal with her tonight.  A smile tugged at his lips; the air in the doorway was curiously light, free of the queen’s magic.

_This will have to do._

Pressing Belle tightly against his chest with one arm, Rumplestiltskin snapped with his free hand and they vanished from the castle, Regina’s angry voice echoing behind them.


	7. Chapter Seven

When she woke, the sun was flooding across the bed clothes.  Belle blinked her eyes into focus.  Had she died?  Was her afterlife her old room in the Dark Castle, because if that was the case, she was really disappointed in the afterlife.  A fire crackled merrily in the hearth and next to the bed, Rumplestiltskin dozed in his leather wingback chair.  No, not dead then.

She sat up; stretching her stiff arms up over her head and bending her fingers back with soft _popping_ sounds.  She was clean and dressed in a soft night shift, a complete reversal of the memory of lying in a lonely cell, filthy and freezing.  But he had found her, somehow and now she was safe.

_As safe as one can be in the hands of the Dark One anyway._

Belle leaned over, poking him gently in the arm until he stirred.

“Oh, good, you’re awake.” Rumplestiltskin murmured his expression one of relief.  He moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his cool hand against her forehead and cheeks, checking for fever and lingering just a little too long.

“How long have I been asleep?” Belle suddenly felt shy.  The last time they had been this close, he had been setting her free, banishing her from his life, all for the crime of having loved him.  Belle would always fight for him, the man hidden beneath the cursed façade, she was staunchly loyal but did she still love him?

“A couple of days.” He was fiddling with potion bottles on the bedside table, fumbling with the corks and pretending to read labels.  Belle smiled to herself.

“Why did it take you so long?” She whispered, not really expecting nor wanting an answer.  Wasn’t it enough that he finally _had_ come for her?  Empty bottles clinked together as he tossed them into a velvet bag and then his hand was upon her head.

“Rest now, dearie.” His voice took on the playful sing-song that he employed often. “I will return in a while with supper.”

“I’m certain I could find my own supper.” She protested until he _tsked_ and waggled a finger in her face.

“It’s not every day the master waits on the servant.” He tweaked her ear and strode out of her room without another word.  Belle fell back into the pillows and gazed at the ceiling.  What sort of master stole through a queen’s castle to take back his housekeeper?

_He could hire anyone to dust the shelves and launder his ridiculous clothing._

Could it be possible that he still loved her?  Belle frowned; that could create all sorts of problems.  What if they became too close again, what if they kissed again?  If the curse started to break as it had before then it was likely she would be back in the same position: tossed out onto the road with nowhere to go.  Belle knew then that she couldn’t stay with Rumplestiltskin.  She sighed and rolled onto her side, resolving to rest before making any decisions about her future.

 

* * *

The fading sunlight made the racks of potions gleam, their own light then dancing across the knotted wood of the shelves.  Rumplestiltskin stared at them without seeing, breathing shallowly, trying to drive Belle from his mind again.  It had been easy while she slept, while there was no chance of running into her unless he went to her room.  He had instructed her to rest but knew from experience that Belle didn’t always do as she was told.  Anger bubbled close to the surface and he fought to supress it; he couldn’t afford to lose his calm.

_My power means more to me than you._

_All you’ll have is an empty heart and a chipped cup._

And isn’t that what had happened?  That heart seemed even emptier after it had been full for that fleeting moment at the spinning wheel when their lips met.  He had hardly dared to breathe in that moment; it was delicate, like a bubble and if he exhaled, it would burst.  But it had burst anyway.  He absently stroked the silk of his shirt; he needed this curse, to find his son, to defend himself; now more than ever.

He moved around the workroom, letting his fingers graze over books and tables, the spinning wheel he’d moved from the hall after Belle had left the first time.

_She didn’t leave, you made her go._

Grunting in frustration, Rumplestiltskin threw himself into a ratty chair in the corner.  The best thing he could’ve done was to have left Belle in her prison.  She had been dead so why couldn’t she _stay dead_?  There was important work to be done and there was no time for love.  Did he still love that headstrong, brave girl who had hardly flinched when all he had given her was hardship?  The fluttering in his stomach seemed to suggest that he did.

Rumplestiltskin groaned; he couldn’t toss her out again, that wasn’t an option now.  It was dangerous to keep her here but it was more dangerous for both of them if he threw her out.  There were too many people looking for secrets to defeating the Dark One and Belle was in a position to know them all.  No one would believe that she knew as little as they did; Regina certainly hadn’t believed it.

Cursing under his breath, Rumplestiltskin hauled himself to his feet and headed down the stairs.  He would drive himself insane trying to come up with a solution; he could put it off until Belle was healthy again.  Suppertime was close and he had to prepare his heart and mind for their next meeting.


	8. Chapter Eight

Belle had curled up in the old cushioned chair that she kept by the window, a book lying open but unread in her hands.  The moon hung low in the newly darkened sky and stars freckled the darkness around it in abundance.  So many nights, _hundreds_ of nights spent when she couldn’t see much of the sky at all; just a sliver, a slice, enough to tease her hunger for more.  Now there were miles of it, punctuated with snow-capped mountain peaks and the last faint glow of the sun in the west; out of the tower, warm and comfortable with all the sky she could desire.  If she went out into the garden, she might be crushed under an ocean of night and stars.

She should have been resting but then Rumplestiltskin should not have left the books on her dressing table.  Belle had made an attempt at sleeping after he had gone but she was restless and had been sleeping for too long already.  The room was warm enough to sit in without a wrap and so she rolled out of bed, unsteady on her legs at first and began to putter around.  She washed her hair at the washstand even though Rumpelstiltskin had taken care of that.  It felt good for her to cleanse herself and Belle imagined the sadness and fear tumbling into the water as she rinsed her curls.

The dust was the next to go and she attacked it eagerly with the cleaning rags she found in the bottom of the wardrobe.  Rumplestiltskin’s magic may not work in keeping the dust away but it seemed to slow its accumulation, there should had been much more than there was, she mused as she wiped the passage of time from every surface.  Satisfied with the results and feeling more than a little tired, Belle dropped into the chair to investigate the books she had spied until Rumplestiltskin came with the promised supper.

Suppertime came and went with no sign of Rumplestiltskin but she read on, sampling a book or three before her stomach made loud noises, protesting its neglect.  She sighed but roused herself from the chair, smiling.  Rumplestiltskin had probably been sidetracked and she didn’t mind getting her own supper.  Reaching for the doorknob, Belle jumped back, startled, as it opened on its own.  Rumplestiltskin stood on the other side with a silver tray in hand, looking just as startled as she felt.

“I thought you forgot.” Her voice trailed off and feeling nervous she studied the painting near the door.

“May I come in?” He smiled sheepishly.

“Oh! Yes, sorry.” Belle stammered as she retreated back to the chair.

He set the tray on the bed and motioned for her to come over.  Hunger overcame her hesitation and she moved carefully until she sat cross-legged.  It was a simple meal; a baked potato, warmed ham and a thick slice of bread but it was a feast to Belle.  Forgetting her finer manners, she ate everything on her plate, sopping up the butter and juices from the ham with the bread.  It was when she was licking her fingers of the remains of the butter that she realized that Rumplestiltskin was still there, not eating, just watching her.

“I’m sorry.” She laughed nervously; the tray vanished and she scrambled from the bed to the washstand, eager for something to do.    She had no idea what to say to him.  Strong arms slipped around her waist and she jumped, dropping the hand towel.

“You ought to rest now, Belle.” He murmured, his breath hot on the top of her head.  Belle twisted around, looking up at him and flashed him a nervous smile.  Every part of her hummed and her skin felt electric under his touch; perhaps this was her answer to questioning her feelings.  Not trusting herself to speak, she allowed Rumplestiltskin to guide her back to bed and tuck her in.

“You’re not going now, are you?” she asked once Rumplestiltskin seemed satisfied that she was comfortable, snug under the covers with a hot water bottle at her feet.  The fire burned low in the hearth and he had extinguished the candles with a flick of his finger.  Rumplestiltskin hesitated as though he were biting back a quip and then shook his head.  Belle looked over to the empty space next to her on the bed and then back to him.  “Please?  Until I am asleep?”

Rumplestiltskin moved quietly around the bed and laid down gingerly, like he were afraid it might bite him; he hadn’t even bothered to remove his tall boots.  Belle smiled encouragingly at him and took his hand, lacing her warm fingers through his slightly cooler ones.  She gave it a soft squeeze and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep with a smile still on her face.

 

* * *

 

Belle had fallen asleep in a matter of minutes, her hand gone slack and dropping away from his.  Rumplestiltskin exhaled the breath he had been holding, his lungs burning for want of a fresh intake of air.  He knew he should go but he couldn’t bring himself to leave yet; without Belle’s bright blue inquisitive gaze on him, Rumplestiltskin was free to study her at his leisure.

The tinctures he’d administered seemed to had done their work; the colour was back in her cheeks, the gauntness not quite as apparent.  How much longer would she have survived in the tower he wasn’t sure but it likely would not have been long.  An unfamiliar ache spread throughout his chest and, wincing, Rumplestiltskin pulled the sleeping girl to him.  He pressed his face into her hair, inhaling the fresh lavender that scented the shampoo.  She was warm and soft and he was unable to let go, his lips grazing across her neck below the ear; she stirred but did not wake.

_Leave her be, you fool, stop torturing yourself._

He kissed her forehead, the tip of her nose and each silky cheek, stopping short of her lips; the temptation was almost too great.  There had been fleeting moments when he thought it would have been so easy to let it all go.  With one sweet kiss the curse could be ended and on the other side would be Belle; accepting, loving and loyal Belle.  Was there even a chance that his son was still living?  Rumplestiltskin dismissed the thought immediately; everything he had striven for was coming to fruition, he could not stop now and he could not lose faith.

“Rumple?” she mumbled sleepily, her eyes opening to find his face inches from hers. 

Startled, he released her and rolled onto his back. “You were having a bad dream.” He lied. “You clung to me.”

“I’m sorry.” Her blush was deep and obvious even in the dark.  A small part of him felt ashamed for lying but she could not know what he had done; she could not know that he still loved her, it was too dangerous.

“Let me help you.” Rumplestiltskin rearranged the covers and tucked her in quite neatly.  When she was comfortable he placed a hand on her forehead and whispered a spell (more for effect than necessity).  With a sleepy smile, Belle immediately fell back to sleep.

Rumplestiltskin exhaled slowly and rolled over the edge of the bed to the floor.  Resisting the urge to crawl out of the room, he stood up; straightening his clothes and strode out purposefully.  Closing the door gently on the sleeping Belle, he then slumped against the wall.  He grasped at a dusty candelabra, the cool iron reassuring under his hand.  It was impossible to avoid being alone with Belle when there was no one else in the castle but them.  With a shake of his head, he marched down the corridor trying to put her from his mind.  There was work to be done and a son to be found.


	9. Chapter Nine

The scent of roses wafted through the air and Belle inhaled deeply, drinking it in.  Sunshine beat down upon her skin and she was hotter than she ever thought possible this far into the mountains.  She wandered through tall, soft grass away from the Dark Castle, still on the grounds but beyond the formal gardens it had grown wild, the blooms incredibly large, the trees tall, strong and vibrant; all drunk on Rumplestiltskin’s magic.  One could believe that the sun flowers might uproot themselves and join her on her walk.

She walked for ages it seemed but the castle never receded as far as Belle thought it should have.  The trees stood closer together here, their branches entwined and the leaves made a dense green canopy and the air was much cooler, almost chilly on her bare arms; very little grass grew, the ground covered instead with a thick carpet of moss.  Belle tread lightly across the moss, further through the grove where the trees gnarled, much older than the rest; a thick stone wall rose abruptly behind the oldest trees, cutting them off from their brethren in the forest beyond. 

“Trying to escape, dearie?” Rumplestiltskin’s voice came from in front of her but there was nothing but stone.  She whirled around looking for him, he felt very near but there was nothing but the trees.

“No, I was just taking a walk.”  Her voice trailed away.  She held her hands clutched together tightly against her skirt to keep them from shaking.

“I have rose gardens for that.” he stepped out from behind one of the trees looking sinister in leather breeches and the stiff crocodile skin vests he favoured.  Belle had no answer, only attempted a brave smile and started back toward the Dark Castle. His hand on her arm stopped her; Belle hadn’t even seen him move.

“Where are you off to, dearie?” with a gesture, a cloak appeared and he spread it across the mossy ground. “Are you very frightened?”

“Not very.”  Belle sank to the cloak while Rumplestiltskin crouched next to her.  He seemed on edge, like a wild cat about to spring upon its prey. “Are _you_ frightened of something?” she countered.  Rumplestiltskin snorted and settled onto the cloak but he still appeared uncomfortable.  “Would you have tried very hard to stop me had I really been trying to escape?”

Rumplestiltskin wouldn’t look up from his intense study of his black fingernails; an imperceptible shake of his head was the only indication he had been listening.  Belle felt something inside her wilt; she ought to have done cartwheels all the way to the front gate and down the forest road but tears pricked her eyes.

“Do you want me to go?” that question was met with only silence.  Of course he wanted her to go, his every waking moment was spent searching for his son and she wouldn’t hold that against him but that meant there was no room for her anywhere.  Belle brushed her fingers across the back of his hand and made to stand up.  She would go.

“No, wait.” His fingers closed around her thin wrist; his golden eyes were wide and unfocused. “No tears, dearie.”  Releasing her wrist, Rumplestiltskin slipped a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her face to his.  Tired of waiting, Belle made the next move, kissing his bottom lip gently, giving it a light nip.  “Belle..” he gave into the encouragement, capturing her mouth with his and deepening the kiss when Belle slipped her arms around his neck.  They fell back onto the cloak, lips still locked together; Rumplestiltskin’s free hand caressed her face then wandered to her breasts, giving one a gentle squeeze.

_A dream, it’s all a dream, the curse isn’t breaking_ the voice in her head insisted, trying to be heard over the thundering of her heart and the pulse of the blood in her ears.  Rumplestiltskin’s lips had travelled down her neck, nipping and licking as he went; Belle was finding it difficult to think straight when his wandering hand found the hem of her skirt and lightly grazed the skin.  _A dream, Belle, a dream_.  His fingers stroked the soft skin of her inner thighs and she shivered involuntarily; what was the harm in a dream?  They lay together on the cloak, all lips and fingers, kissing until her jaw ached and her skin was on fire beneath his touch.  Pressing a hard kiss to her forehead, Rumplestiltskin held her tightly against him like he was afraid she would slip through his fingers. “You cannot go.” He whispered fiercely. “You mustn’t.”

“Of course not.” She mumbled into his vest. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Something crashed loudly behind them and Belle sat bolt upright, looking wildly around at her dark bedroom; the dream was at an end.


	10. Chapter Ten

“I expect the same as before; meals, laundry, dusting.” Belle watched the lace on the cuffs of Rumplestiltskin’s sleeves flop around as he gestured to random objects around them on their journey through the castle down to the kitchen.  The castle was undeniably dusty and somewhat unkempt; even the air in the stairwells felt dusty in her lungs.  The part of her that _wasn’t_ annoyed at the thought of being rescued just to be a servant again relished the idea of scrubbing all the filth away.

Rumplestiltskin had descended much quicker than her short legs could manage and was leaning casually against the rough kitchen table; he had always walked too fast for her.  He smiled thinly as she hurried in with her slightly mussed up hair and blue skirt swishing around her ankles.

 “Keep up, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin scolded, ignoring her annoyance.  He thrust a mop and bucket into her hands. “You know the tea time.” and then he was out the door and up the stairs before she could make any reply.  The fast staccato of his boots on stone faded away and Belle sighed, dropping to a wooden bench with pail and mop still in hand.  She had spent the week wondering how long it would take him to revert back to the maniacal Dark One with his flamboyant gestures and creepy giggles; he did so love playing the imp.  It hadn’t been long, in any case as it had been just over a week since her return to the Dark Castle.  The tenderness of her first night awake seemed long forgotten by him.

Belle drifted to a corner with the mop and worked her way across the kitchen.  He’d never told her what took him so long to find her and the more she asked the less he came around until this morning when he’d decided it was time for her to be put to work.  Belle didn’t mean to seem ungrateful and she thanked the stars every night now that she was warm and safe.  But she couldn’t help her curiosity; it seemed a very uncharacteristic thing for Rumplestiltskin to do when she considered the way they had parted.  She still felt that she could not remain in the Dark Castle.

She wiped the table down with a damp cloth, losing herself in making slow, lazy circles with the rag, her mind wandering back to the dream of her and Rumplestiltskin in the grove, on the cloak and entwined like the interlocking branches above them.  Her breath hitched in her throat at the memory of his lips brushing against her skin, his breath hot on her neck.  A blush flooded her cheeks and a tight ache gripped her lower abdomen.  It was fleeting but it had still left her breathless; Belle braced herself against the table.  She still loved him though she hoped she hadn’t and there was no sense in wishing for the impossible; her very kiss would rob Rumplestiltskin of the power he prized, what would he be without the limitless magic of the Dark One?  It was a question she knew he would never want to answer and Belle knew she would not be able to stay, arm’s length but loving him, unfulfilled and unrequited for the rest of her life.

But where could she go, Belle wondered as she moved onto wiping down the dusty counters and the stone cold potbelly stove.  There was an evil queen and a pirate waiting for her beyond Rumplestiltskin’s mountain stronghold.  Her father might take her in and it was more tempting than Belle cared to admit.  Big and kind, a good lord and a doting father, she wanted to run into her Papa’s arms and let the world filled with queens, pirates and sorcerers fall away.  But her presence would put her Papa in danger and that was the last thing Belle wanted.  No, she would have to figure out something else.  Perhaps she could book passage on a ship and see the world as she had always wanted to.

_What if you told him how you still felt?_

Crouched in front of the stove, Belle frowned; telling Rumplestiltskin things didn’t seem to be a viable option, his temper was too quick for that.  And if he didn’t panic?  Belle shook her head; he wouldn’t react well, she knew him well enough to know that.  Sighing, Belle opened the door on the stove; a whispered word brought it to life and she set about making a pot of tea.

 

* * *

_Arm’s length, she must be kept at arm’s length. Several thousand arms for that matter._

Rumplestiltskin stomped through the dim corridors of the upper levels of the castle in a half-hearted attempt to return to his workroom but mostly to get away from Belle.  He was likely to forget tea time, what if she came looking for him?  Dark blood trickled down his chin from where his teeth had gnawed through discoloured lips; was there no where he could hide in his own fortress?

_Easy now, the girl’s done nothing- yet! She’s done nothing yet!_

The voices warred with one another as he ascended flight after flight of stairs, finally reaching the very top and bursting through the old wooden door, emerging atop the tallest tower of the Dark Castle.  The world below was blinding white; snow deep and windswept surrounded the walls of his estate.  He threw back his head and bellowed, all the anger and frustration that had been locked inside echoed across the valley.

Not a day had gone by that he had not regretted stealing Belle away from the queen’s dungeon.  The time was so near, the curse was coming and she was a distraction; just an unnecessary complication.  Rumplestiltskin leaned back against the icy stone, listening to a distant avalanche with mild satisfaction.  Belle hadn’t done anything, he had to admit but she didn’t _have_ to.  Just looking into her blue eyes was enough to sweep him away, like pulling him out to sea with the high tide.

_It’s not like you can just give her back to Regina._

It would mean admitting that he had been creeping around her castle, not that Regina didn’t know that already and being in her company was even less desirable than having Belle there.

_Belle is too valuable to let go – but she doesn’t know anything! No, but you’ve proven her value by stealing her._

Rumplestiltskin took a silver flask from his coat, running his fingers over the engraved designs.  Was he really so weak that he couldn’t handle having a girl in the castle?  He loved that girl though.  He took a swig and put the flask back into its pocket, relishing the liquid burning its way down his throat and filling his stomach.  He exhaled noisily and stood straight; it would be tea time soon and he would be damned if he was going to let a girl chase him into hiding in his own castle.  He was probably damned anyway; with an impish giggle, Rumplestiltskin strode back inside to make his descent.


	11. Chapter Eleven

The castle at midnight felt different to Belle than the castle before the witching hour or any time afterward.  Shadows seemed darker and longer, the furniture seemed like it could spring to life at any moment and the very air seemed to shiver with magic.  Restless and unable to sleep, Belle rolled out of bed, stepping into her slippers and donning a housecoat on her way out of the room.  She wandered down the stairs and into the great room, which stood dark and empty but not silent.  Belle hurried past the prized objects on their pillars, pretending that they weren’t whispering to her; maybe it was just her imagination.  The kitchen was even darker, the high windows not allowing even the moonlight to trickle in.  She felt her way through the darkness, banging into a bench and kicking the stove before she was able to get her hands on a candle.  That would teach her to leave her room without a light of her own.

She stuffed some kindling into the stove and soon the fire crackled merrily.  Belle shut the door to the stove and moved about, filling the kettle from the pump and setting it to boil while she went into the pantry with the candle to get the tea leaves.  It was too late for tea but the routine soothed her nerves and soon she was sitting at the kitchen table, her hands cupped around the hot earthenware mug that she preferred, breathing in the steam; tea could make anything better.

Was Rumplestiltskin sleeping?  Belle absently stirred a bit of cream into the tea; she couldn’t imagine him ever sleeping.  He always seemed too alert and too on edge, even when he appeared to be relaxing.  The only time he seemed calm at all was at his spinning wheel.  He was probably still awake and in his workroom, it seemed to be the only room in the castle that served any purpose to him, and the rest were superfluous.  Lifting the mug carefully, Belle padded out of the kitchen, feeling much calmer.  Behind her, the stove and candle extinguished themselves and the kitchen plunged back into darkness.

Midnight had passed and the castle seemed to settle down; the objects in the great room no longer called to her as she passed, shadows were just shadows and the air no longer about to combust.  Her legs were like lead as she climbed the stairs back up to her room but sleepiness still eluded her; Belle walked past her door and on down to another flight of steps, her feet not stopping until she entered the library.  Books were scattered on the floor around one of the old arm chairs, ribbons and gold threads sticking out between the pages while others were left open.  It wasn’t like Rumplestiltskin to leave materials out where she could read them too; could it be possible that he was still in there?  Belle was still, straining to hear something but there was nothing; he had gone.  Unable to fight her curiosity, Belle plopped onto the floor amidst the books.  She reached behind her to lightly tap the lantern on the reading table and then flipped open the first book, a rich red leather tome marked with gold thread. 

The yellowed pages were covered in small, compact characters, not all of them in the common tongue and some appeared to be in Rumplestiltskin’s hand.  She skimmed a few pages, turning them carefully before replacing the thread and moving onto the next book.  Symbols, chants, and words of magic that looked rather lifeless on the thin paper.  Belle had always imagined a sorcerer’s books to look different, ink humming with magic about to leap off the page.  On the back cover of a book filled with star maps, she found more of his notes.

                        _Baelfire: lost..lost  LOST._

_Regina – > Land without magic -> BAELFIRE._

_Twenty eight swans without wings..will break the chains._

Her stomach did a flip flop as she stared at the words.  Frowning, Belle moved onto the next book, filled with curses and then another, ingredients and archaic formulas.  She slammed the book shut and tossed it to the floor, pushing it away with her foot.  A curse?  What was Rumplestiltskin planning?

“What are you doing?” Rumplestiltskin’s cold voice came from behind her; startled, Belle scrambled to her feet, knocking the mug over, spilling tea all over the books.  An inhuman shriek tore at her ears and Rumplestiltskin shoved roughly out of the way, diving to the floor to rescue the books. “You stupid girl!” he shouted, clutching the books to his chest.  The spill was gone, as was the mug; evaporated by magic.

“Are you making a curse for the queen?” she stammered.  She knew she ought to leave before Rumplestiltskin’s rage got the better of him but she couldn’t.

“Get out.”

“But –“

“I said GET OUT!” he screamed, raising his free hand as though to cast a spell on her.  Belle didn’t know; she didn’t stick around to find out.


	12. Chapter Twelve

Countless tiny pieces of glass, glittering at his feet on the floor, were all that remained of the library windows, the newest victims of Rumplestiltskin’s explosive temper.  The fire of his anger wheezed out of him and an uncomfortable clarity rushed in behind it.  Bitter nighttime air poured in through the broken windows.  The shards crunched as he walked, some of them grinding into fine dust beneath the hard heels of his boots.  The wind had gone out of his sails, like the abrupt lull in a storm at sea.  His books and papers were scattered about which was more his fault than Belle’s.  Picking them up, Rumplestiltskin hugged them tight, the panic tightening his chest.  With a long sweep of his hand, the shining mess vanished, becoming solid panes of glass once again.

His books winked out of sight and he into a chair, heavy like a stone into water.  He had not wanted to lose his temper with Belle but finding her there had caught him by surprise; he panicked.  What would she do if she uncovered his plans, his lifetime of work?

_What would I do if she tried to destroy it?_

Rumplestiltskin knew what he would do if Belle tried to interfere with the curse.  His fists clenched as he imagined his fingers closing around her pale, smooth throat; dark against cream, like the bruises that would be sure to blossom.  It would be easy, _so easy_ , to squeeze; the most minimal amount of pressure and watch while the light faded from her ocean blue eyes.  The monster inside him clapped and cackled with glee at the thought of snuffing her out.  Rumplestiltskin grabbed the arms of the chair, digging into the upholstery until his nails broke through the fabric as he waited for the monster to subside.  Fresh pain flooded through him; he never wanted to hurt her but he already had.

_And I will again._

Why did it matter to him if Belle discovered what he had been planning?  All of the pieces were in place, they were moving just as he desired and soon, _very_ soon, the vehicle of his salvation would sweep across the kingdoms leaving destruction in its wake, with no one living left to care or to remember.  There was nothing Belle, or anyone else could do to stop it; Rumplestiltskin no longer could stand in the curse’s way, even if he cared to. 

_Should I apologize?_

He stretched his legs, the right one being incredibly stiff; not even the power of the Dark One had been able to take away all of the pain of the old injury.  Grabbing the lantern, Rumplestiltskin shuffled through the darkness of the castle to Belle’s room, hoping she was in there.

The door was ajar and he frowned; if she were the slightest bit interested in self-preservation, she would’ve locked the door.  Not that a locked door would have stopped him if he were determined on harming her.

“Belle?” he peeked his head around the door, calling softly.  A lamp burned low on the bedside table but Belle was not in the bed.  He stepped into the room, the door closing behind him with a soft click.  She was curled up tightly in the chair near the window with her eyes closed but she wasn’t asleep.  “Belle?”

Her eyes popped open, fear flickered across her face. “I left, I listened, I’m sorry.” The words came tumbling out like acrobats at the fair.  Rumplestiltskin knelt beside her, cupping her hands inside his own; the monster roiled around, just below the pounding of his heart, hurling every curse word it knew at him.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His voice was thin and reedy; it was a lame beginning even to his ears.

“You didn’t.” she lied, eyes focused on their hands.

“It was important work and you never should have snooped-“

“That still doesn’t excuse your temper.”

Rumplestiltskin’s hands dropped to his lap; how dare she argue while he was here _on his knees_ making an apology.

“Are you trying to say you’re sorry, Rumple?”

“No – well, yes..I suppose.”

“Then just say the words and then go away.” Belle climbed out of the chair, pushing past him.  She sat on the edge of the bed, hands folded neatly in her lap, and waited.

“I’m sorry I shouted.” Rumplestiltskin hung his head, unable to meet Belle’s steady gaze.  The monster shrieked, furious that a mere girl had reduced the Dark One to stupid apologies.

“Apology accepted.” Belle gave him a tired smile and she climbed under the covers.  He hesitantly sat on the edge next to her and tucked her in; he felt like an utter fool but somehow Rumplestiltskin didn’t mind.

“Winter is coming soon.” She remarked, staring up at the ceiling.

_No kidding._

“I thought –“ Belle chewed on her lower lip. “I thought I might go, before the worst of the snows come.”

“Go?  Where on earth would you go?” Rumplestiltskin blinked, astonished.  His heart twisted like one would wring out a wet rag.

“I don’t know.” She smiled ruefully.  “But I really can’t stay here.  I get in your way and don’t you deny it.”

“I won’t.” he snapped.  They lapsed into silence, Rumplestiltskin frowning at the bed covers.  After all he went through to find her was he just going to _allow_ her to waltz out of the front gates and out of his life?

_If you know what’s good for you, you will._

“You don’t have to go, you know.” Rumplestiltskin struggled to keep his voice light; otherwise he was likely to crumble, begging her to stay while crying like an infant. “You won’t get out of the mountains before the heavy snows come.  Stay til the spring.”

Belle studied him, her eyes full of wariness.  It wasn’t a welcome invitation, he suspected but even she could see the wisdom in remaining until the winter passed.

“All right, if you’re certain.”

_Oh, I’m rarely so **un** certain, dearie._

“Excellent!” he giggled, grabbing her hand and giving it a squeeze.  He bade her goodnight and sauntered out with hands steepled in front of him; his usual run of posturing.  Once back in the corridor, Rumplestiltskin’s shoulders sagged when he dropped the façade.

_You, are a foolish beast._


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Belle put the last of the dishes away in the china cabinet and grabbed her shawl, wrapping it tightly about her shoulders.  She snatched the lantern off the table on her way to the stairs, darkness consuming the kitchen before she had even gone.  The magic that kept the castle running sometimes got a little herky jerky when Rumplestiltskin was away and he had been away for a long while.   The autumn had flown by peacefully enough and Rumplestiltskin had even made half-hearted attempts at being a gentleman.  Now it was midwinter’s night.  It had been gray all day, the sun shrouded by clouds heavy with the promise of snow.  Belle had not seen Rumplestiltskin for weeks, since the first big snowfall, and she missed his sour face as he paced around the library while she tried to read.  Maybe he would return tonight.

The fire in her room burned low and she stoked the flames as quickly as she could, the chill of the floors seeping through the thin soles of her shoes.  The heat wrapped around her like a blanket; finally warm enough to move away from the fireplace, Belle moved about the room, tidying her things.  At a word, a heated brick appeared as a lump at the foot of her bed; the magic in the castle did have _some_ advantages, she had to concede.

She peeked around the drapes that had been pulled tight over the window to keep out the draught.  Thousands of small snowflakes blew past her window, gathering up into a veil of white that obstructed her view of the cloudy sky.

_Little flakes big snow.._

Last midwinter she had been locked away, the tower bitter with cold and haunted by howling storm winds.  That had been before Regina took away things like hot meals and blankets.  Belle passed the night huddled under old musty furs, imagining herself at the midwinter parties of her youth; mulled cider, hot spiced wine and a spread of dishes that she only ever saw on the most special of days.  She had opened the dancing with her Papa, her small hands enclosed in his larger ones, both of them smiling as she led him around the floor.  She had danced the night away afterwards with all the young men of the village and the handful of willing older men too.  Before midnight, Belle helped her father pass out woolen socks stuffed with small parcels she had spent weeks preparing; brightly wrapped toys and fruit for the little ones, treats and some coin for the older folk.  It had been her favourite night of the year until the ogres came. 

Belle frowned, ducking back into the room shivering.  She grabbed her shift and wandered over to the fireplace to change.  The horrible roar of the ogres filled her mind as she slipped the cool linen over her head.  The men of her village had fought bravely but had been pushed back further and further until the ogres were nearly on their very doorstep.  She had insisted on a small celebration, an attempt to reclaim their lives as they had been.  But it had only ended in terror and bloodshed when a raiding party of ogres exploded into their hall.  A few months later, Belle left with Rumplestiltskin to save her people.  She wondered how her Papa marked the night now, with the ogres so far away.

Crawling into bed, Belle found the brick with her feet and sighed.  She longed for a simpler time and definitely a happier one.  She missed having others to share a celebration with or even just a normal day; she had been alone too long.

Tapping at the door drew her out of her melancholy musings and Belle’s heart did a flip as she slipped out of bed; it could be no one else but Rumplestiltskin.  The door opened as she threw a shawl about her shoulders and the Imp came in.  Without the hard, high collared coats he wore, he seemed diminished and a bit shorter even in his heeled boots.  Silk, brocade and leather gave him a softer appearance but she wasn’t fooled, he was still sinister; Belle thought him magnificent.   The firelight caught on droplets of water in his wavy hair, the snowflakes still there vanishing before her eyes.

“You’re back.” Belle said, tearing her gaze away from Rumplestiltskin and cursing herself for stating the obvious.

“Ah, yes, just now.” He looked distracted, looking around like he didn’t know how he’d gotten there. “I didn’t wake you?”

Belle shook her head absently, her eyes fixed to a spot on the wall just above Rumplestiltskin’s shoulder.  Her stomach fluttered violently.

“I have something for you.” He was close now; close enough for her to fall into if she dared.  Rumplestiltskin gently touched her cheek, sweeping a stray tendril of hair and tucking it behind her ear.  In his other hand was a soft pink rose at the height of its bloom; its perfume filled her nose and mind with summer.

“It’s beautiful.” She whispered, taking it from him.  The petals were soft like the smooth flesh of a child and stray drops of dew dotted the center; it was freshly cut.  A summer rose in the dead of winter. “But I don’t have anything for you.” Her eyes burned a warning of the tears that were sure to follow.

“It’s a gift, not a deal, dearie.” Rumplestiltskin’s eyes were wide and focused entirely on her. “Hush now, if I’d known it would make you cry I would’ve left it.” His thumb brushed a tear from the end of her nose.  Belle laughed, embarrassed.

“Happy tears, Rumplestiltskin, you’ve done nothing wrong.  Thank you.” She sniffled, trying to stem the tide. “But it’s midwinter’s night and I’ve nothing for you.”

“Tis only a silly holiday.” He mumbled.  A crystal vial appeared in his hand and he held it against her cheek, letting the tears slide in. “I’ve never caused happy tears before.” He put a stopper on the vial and tucked it into a vest pocket. “We’re even now, if that concerned you.”

“What do you want my tears for?”

“Oh, a rainy day.” He said airily, taking the rose and tucking it carefully into her hair.  Belle grasped his hand and pulled it to her face, pressing a soft kiss into his palm.  “What’s this now?  You missed the monster?”

“You’re not a monster.” She admonished, Rumplestiltskin pulling her to his chest.

“I am and you know it as well as I do.” His lips grazed her forehead, his breath hot and shaky.

“Rumple-“ Her heart was racing and she tried to push him away before she forgot herself.  He kissed her tear stained cheeks, the tip of her nose; she longed to grab his face in her hands and press their lips together, curse be damned but he would never forgive her.

“It’s all right.” He murmured, nipping at her earlobe. “The rose, it’s –“

“Enchanted.” She breathed, reaching for his face and pulling his mouth to hers.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

A fitful sleep ended in frustration hours before dawn.  Rumplestiltskin laid on his back staring up at the ceiling, listening to the dying fire and Belle’s steady breathing.  Inside, he cursed himself; the clothes strewn across the floor, the dark stain of blood between them on the white sheets, the rose still tucked into her messy hair.  It never should have happened.  Never.

Belle slept on, tangled in the sheets looking like a goddess of old, dim firelight dancing red and gold upon the cream of her bare legs.  Reaching for her, Rumplestiltskin lightly tracing the smooth contours of her neck and shoulders; the slender crease down the back to the gentle dip of the small of her back, beneath the fabric.  She stirred, rolling into his arms and nestling into his chest.  Rose and lavender flooded his nose, his senses filling up with Belle once again.  The nagging voice in his head urged him to stop, to leave, maybe even run as far away as he could and never look back.  Burying his face in her hair, his hands slipping the sheet away from her body; the nagging voice faded away, drown out by a more primal need.

He cupped her breasts, filling his hands with them, stifling a groan; it had been too long for one tumble to sate him.  She was awake now, blue eyes watching him curiously while he touched and teased; her cheeks had flushed the same delicate pink of the rose.  Across her stomach and downward, rubbing the silken skin of her inner thighs and slipping into the dark damp curls between them; he relished her shudder as his fingers slipped into her wet heat.

“Rumple.” Her breath was ragged, her body squirming away but he held her fast against him.  There was no time for talk, no room for words between them; only lips and sighs and moans.  Blood had flooded into her face, crimson cream setting her blue eyes ablaze with desire. _Desire for **me**_ … pinning her into the pillows, Rumplestiltskin pushed her legs apart with his knee, settling himself between them. 

_One night.  This cannot happen again. Just one night._ He pushed inside and all other coherent thoughts dissolved.


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Raw knuckles, hard floor and the dark red stain on its backdrop of white filled Belle with despair.  She had never had to wash blood out of anything; not in her father’s castle, they had washerwomen for that and not even during her adventures with Mulan; the warrior woman had known how to lift blood stains from their clothes if it had been necessary.  Belle dunked the rough brush back into the sudsy and rapidly cooling water, the kitchen fire doing little to keep the bucket or her warm as she splashed all over the bed sheet and her skirts.

_Good girls don’t do these things.  Spoiled.  Ruined._ Belle attacked the bloodstain with renewed vigor but it did not budge; a splotch on her honor, a mocking reminder of a moment of weakness; _many_ moments of weakness.  Her lips were tender, legs crampy and sore and she ached in places she had never known existed before last night. With a cry of frustration she threw the brush into the bucket and fell to her hands before the fire; her hair fell into her face and she could feel the rose slipping from its place behind her ear.  _Used goods_.  Sitting back on her heels, Belle ripped the rose from her hair, stopping short of throwing it across the room.  Did it matter, what they had done?  She had been ruined the moment she offered herself as collateral to the Dark One and it wasn’t like she had a string of noble suitors waiting in the entry way.  Did she not love Rumplestiltskin?  Drawing a ragged breath, Belle slipped the rose back into her hair; yes, she _did_ love him, there was no sense in denying it.  She grabbed the sheet stained with her maiden blood and sighed; but did he love her?  Rumplestiltskin had a plan, grand and intricate, to find his son and that plan did not account for her.

_I love him and there’s nothing I can do about it._   The thought of staying in the castle until spring made her sick and Belle wondered how deep the snow in the passes was; could she get out of the mountains before they were simply impassable until the spring?

Her neck tingled and she tensed up; Rumplestiltskin appeared at her side, dressed in full Dark One regalia; hard leathers, points and sharp edges cloaked with an air of menace.  He knelt beside her, his clothing creaking in protest, and gently took the sheet from her hands.  Rumplestiltskin waved his hand over the offensive stain and it vanished leaving no hint that the sheet had ever been soiled.  A vial appeared in his other hand, similar to the one he had used to collect her tears; a dark red liquid glinted in the firelight.

“For another rainy day?” she asked, breaking the silence between them.

“It rains a lot here.” Rumplestiltskin tucked the vial away into his coat. “Belle, I am sorry.” He mumbled, staring at his clasped hands. “I never meant-“

Belle leaned in and silenced him with a kiss; she wanted none of his apologies or hearing that what they had done was a mistake.  There was enough of that going on in her own mind.  Rumplestiltskin grasped her around the waist and pulled her against him.  He parted her lips with his tongue, teasing while his hands caressed her back and grasped her bottom, pressing his hips into her.  _No, Rumple_.  She put her hands against his chest and pushed away, breaking their kiss, but his arms were still locked around her waist.  They regarded one another, each panting slightly.  Belle could feel the heat from her burning cheeks.

“Belle, I can’t.” his wide eyes seemed full of regret; Rumplestiltskin’s grip on her waist loosened and he held her more delicately as though their moment together could blow away like powdery snow in a winter’s breeze. “Not again.”

“I know, Rumple and its fine, truly.” Her voice shook, betraying the lie. “You need to find your son.” Belle flinched from his thumb as it tried to brush a tear away.  Her heart heavy, she pulled the rose from her tangled hair, rubbing her fingers across the silky petals before flinging it into the kitchen fire.  The _pop_ as it hit the flames made them both jump and a silvery puff of magic rose up the flue with the smoke. “I’ll be gone tomorrow if the weather is clear.”

Rumplestiltskin shook his head as he stood, pulling Belle up with him. “It’s much too dangerous for you.  The queen would be on you before you could draw a breath.” Absently, he passed his hand over her skirts, magic leaving them warm and dry. “I need to go, Belle, I have business with a snivelling princess and her toad brained prince.”

“When will you return?”

His smile seemed sad but for the glint of triumph in his golden eyes. “I don’t know. Soon?”

_He’s not coming back_.

“You should stay, the magic here will protect you until-“

“What will happen when the curse comes?  Will it hurt?” she folded her arms across her chest in an effort to keep the ache inside.

“Oh, no. I shouldn’t think. But if it does you won’t remember.”

“How will I find you again?” Belle stared at the sharp angles of his leather coat, not trusting herself to meet his eyes. 

Rumplestiltskin patted his chest and withdrew the sparkling vials. “Your love will lead me back.” The vials vanished from sight and he gave her a slight bow; it seemed stiff without its usual flourish.  Rumplestiltskin spun on his heel and began to walk to the stairs, disappearing before he reached them. 

The tears spilled down her cheeks and Belle remained in the kitchen long after he had gone, alone with her broken heart.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Summer was short in the mountains that year and by September the forest around the Dark Castle had already felt the first kiss of autumn. Belle had stayed behind, half hoping that Rumplestiltskin would return from the errand that had taken him away at midwinter but he had not. She rang in the new year alone with half-read books and a bottle of hard cider she’d found in the pantry. When the winter finally gave way to the spring, Belle took long walks through the castle grounds, talking to the squirrels and sometimes to the toads; one could not tell which creatures might have been human once. But they didn’t talk back and the Dark One still did not return. Summer bloomed and the sun baked the lawns and manicured hedges, wilting the rose gardens but Belle was still alone, talking to herself and to inanimate objects; undeniable proof of possible mental instability.

Belle absently walked the battlements, paying little attention to the perimeter she had been patrolling. With Rumplestiltskin’s prolonged absence, the magic that permeated the estate seemed to wane. Belle began to notice cracks in some of the spells that wove the household and its defenses together; mainly the food in the pantry spoiled quicker though it still appeared from thin air regularly; the wood no longer chopped itself and the fires that used to spring to life in their hearths sputtered into being. Men from the nearby villages had taken to storming the Dark Castle, eager to partake of its legendary stores of treasure and perhaps the lady still in residence. The magic had held, thankfully, and no one had made it beyond the front gate but Belle still had spent the summer scouring the grounds for large stones, moving them slowly to the battlements; she expected to have to heave them at the intruders sooner rather than later. But what could she really hope to accomplish, if a mob of determined people breached the invisible defenses? She could only hope that the magic was strong enough to last until any adventurers grew tired and moved on.

She leaned against the cold stone, gazing down the road that led away from the gates and melted into the trees. That his departure had been a farewell she was certain. But she still hoped and sometimes prayed that he would saunter through the kitchen, demanding his tea as though no time at all had passed. Belle missed him, especially at night while she lay in her bed, aching for the touch of his deft fingers to do what her own seemed poor substitutes for. Blood crept into her cheeks and she shook her head, trying to shake off the memories of the night they had shared together. He would return if it suited him; Rumplestiltskin never allowed himself to be anywhere he did not intend.

Though the day was early yet, the autumn sun was already sinking into slumber behind the evergreen trees. The chilly evening breeze played with the hem of her skirts; Belle shivered and wrapped her shawl tightly around her goose pimpled arms. She inhaled deeply, filling her lungs and then exhaled slowly, searching for total calm.

“A silver for your thoughts?” the smooth, bitter voice shattered the stillness. Belle whirled around, snatching a rock in from her stockpile.

“Regina!” she took a stumbling step back away from the queen, her fingers tightly clutching the rock, white knuckled. The queen laughed and with the slightest flick of a finger, Belle’s rock vanished in a puff of smoke.

“Going to throw that at me, were you?” a smirk tugged at the corners of the queen’s too-red lips, amusement sparkling in her dark eyes. She made no move towards Belle, remaining where she had appeared, the feathers in her lustrous hair fluttering in the breeze, her jewel-bedecked gown winking in the dying sunlight.

“How did you get in here? If Rumplestiltskin finds you here-“

“Rumplestiltskin _won’t_ find me here, dear.” Regina’s laugh sounded almost merry. “He’s locked away.” She pouted. “In a deep, dark cell that blocks his magic. He won’t be coming back to you.” She took a slow step towards Belle, taking the younger woman’s clenched fists in her own gloved hands.

“Are you here to return me to your dungeon?”

“No. Where he is, where you are, or anyone else, will not matter soon enough.”

Belle unclenched her hands, relaxing them into Regina’s. The gloves were smooth, like everything else about the queen, but they were warm too. Regina seemed far too relaxed, almost triumphant; the barely concealed rage Belle had felt in her before seemed further away.

“You have the curse.” Belle realized.

“I do.” She purred, her face tilted skyward, the rising moon casting her in silver and darkness. “Vengeance is mine.”

“By destroying everyone and everything? What have we ever done to you?”

“You _exist_ , Belle. With your innocence, your purity and your _happiness._ ”

Belle huffed; it was a gross assumption on the queen’s part to attribute happiness to her. Her life had very nearly been destroyed; she gave up that life to save all that she had loved. She lost her heart to the man-not-monster who had taken that life from her and now he was _gone_. How could she be happy when her heart broke every day?

“I don’t have happiness, Regina. I have _hope_.”

Regina snorted, smoothing imagined wrinkles in the satin of her gloves. She gave Belle a sly once over. “Though I wager that you’re not so pure anymore, are you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” Belle flushed angrily.

“Do you not?” the queen asked sweetly, withdrawing a small vial from her hair; it was tinted rust red.

“Where did you get that?” Belle’s voice shook and she cursed herself.

“Oh, I think you know. For such a personal memento, he gave it up rather easily.” Regina whipped the vial over the edge of the battlements and it vanished into the darkness.

“Are we done here?” Belle asked through gritted teeth, her eyes burning with unshed tears.

“I think so, for now.” The queen strolled away. “But this won’t be the last time we meet, dear. I have somewhere.. cozy, in mind for you.”

The air shimmered and the Evil Queen was gone, leaving Belle alone again. Feeling her resolve break, Belle sank to the cold stone, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, nails digging into her tender skin. He had given up her gift like one would pull weeds; easily and without thought. She would never see him again in this world but what would she say to him if they met in the next? Would they know even know each other? She was tired; tired of being a toy in the middle of the tug-of-war between the queen and Rumplestiltskin. Belle choked back a sob as the tears slid down her cheeks. She knew that she would welcome the end.


	17. Epilogue

It was almost over. Rumplestiltskin rummaged through a chest of glass bottles, his fingers finally brushing the cool metal of a small brass key. The golden egg was heavy in his other hand; it shone dully in the dim light of the shop. Not half bad for thirty years in the belly of a dragon. Pesky creatures, dragons were.

_Particularly when they’re really a temperamental sorceress in disguise._

His hand shook slightly as he fitted the key into the egg. _Click_. The curse was ending; he could feel it in his bones as certain as the steady beating of his heart. The egg opened smoothly, revealing purple luminescence in a simple bottle. Breathing a sigh of relief, Rumplestiltskin held the bottle up to the light, hands tingling; his body itched for magic like an amputee might itch for their missing limb.

The front door slammed, the bell wildly announcing an unwelcome visitor. He had forgotten to lock up after his hasty return from the library. He popped the bottle back into the egg and hurriedly moved it onto the far workbench until he could get rid of the intruder.

“Excuse me, are you Mr. Gold?” a young woman’s voice asked from the doorway. Annoyance flickered across his face; couldn’t she have waited out in the shop?

“Yes, I am. But I’m afraid the shop is closed –“ Rumpestiltskin turned, hoping to intimidate her into leaving.

His heart plunged into his stomach; before him stood an apparition.

Dowdy hospital garb, ugly coat and unkempt hair, Belle regarded him hopefully, confusion clouding her blue eyes. He barely heard her say that Regina had locked her up.

He’d often wondered what had become of Belle after she burned their rose and he walked out of her life. Since regaining his memories, Rumpelstiltskin had mourned her as dead, grief consuming him, his heart aching to pull her soft form against him again. Eyes burning with tears, he dropped the key back into the chest, a small crystal vial winked as it caught the light: Belle’s tears.

A second chance; his heart soared from the depths, as light as a feather.

Rumpelstiltskin crossed the room, reaching for Belle’s shoulder. He gave it a gentle squeeze; warm, solid, _real_. A chill washed through him, like a fever breaking. “You’re alive.” He rasped. Lost for a moment in her beautiful blue eyes, Rumpelstiltskin fought the urge to scoop her into his arms and kiss her breathless. She didn’t even know him, he realized, his heart sinking. Not yet.

“I was told you would protect me.”

“Yes.” He blinked back tears. “Of course I’ll protect you.” He wrapped her small form in his arms, ignoring her confusion as to his identity (and her own).

“I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“No.” he smiled sadly. “But you will.” Because the curse was ending and with it his years of waiting. He had been a fool to let her go; not once but twice. Rumpelstiltskin vowed that he would never let go of Belle again.


End file.
